Park Mina's life was a meticulously balanced ledger of minus signs. Each day was a race to ensure the number at the bottom didn't dip further into the red, a constant, grinding pressure that had been her reality since her father's death three years ago. The grocery bags she carried were heavy, their weight a physical manifestation of that debt—the cheap tofu, the discounted vegetables, the single piece of fish she would stretch into two meals for her and her brother.
But if her shoulders carried the weight, her face showed none of it. At twenty-six, Mina had perfected the art of cheerful resilience. Her eyes, warm and brown, crinkled at the corners when she smiled, which was often. She believed that while you couldn't always choose your circumstances, you could always choose your attitude. And she chose to face her minus signs with a plus-sign smile.
"Aigoo, Mina-ya! Buying meat? Did you win the lottery?" cackled Grandma Kim from the fruit stand, her face a roadmap of wrinkles.
Mina hefted the bags. "This? This is for the president! My brother has a big exam tomorrow. His brain needs fuel!" It was a partial truth. The small package of beef was a calculated splurge, a bribe and an encouragement for her younger brother, Minho, who was carrying the family's hopes on his nineteen-year-old shoulders.
"That boy will be a doctor yet! You'll see!" Grandma Kim called after her as Mina continued down the narrow alley, weaving through the vibrant, chaotic tapestry of her neighborhood. She knew everyone, and everyone knew her. She was the girl who always had a kind word, who helped the elderly with their groceries, who designed flyers for the local shops for a pittance, her freelance graphic design work another small stream in the trickle of income that kept them afloat.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She juggled the bags to see a notification from the banking app. A transfer had gone through—another payment to the seemingly bottomless pit of her father's business loan. The number in her account dwindled to a terrifyingly low figure. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second before she locked the phone and shoved it away. *One thing at a time,* she told herself. *First, get dinner. Then, worry about tomorrow.*
She lived in a small two-room apartment on the fourth floor of the same building she'd just seen the strange, stiff man enter. She'd noticed him immediately—it was impossible not to. He moved with an unnatural stillness, his posture too perfect, his clothes too new and ill-fitting for the context. He looked like a statue that had been awkwardly animated and dropped into their lively world. She'd heard from the gossipy ajummas that the rooftop room had been rented to a young man from the countryside. *Poor thing,* they'd clucked. *So handsome, but so clueless. Must be lonely.*
Mina reached her door just as a loud, frustrated groan echoed from the shared landing leading to the rooftop. Curious, she peeked up the stairs. The new tenant—Kim Seongjun, according to the landlord—was standing in front of the communal washing machine, staring at it as if it were a hostile alien artifact. A small pile of obviously expensive, now sadly shrunken and discolored clothes lay at his feet.
He looked so utterly lost that Mina's innate kindness overrode her usual caution. "Hey! Are you okay?"
Seongjun started, turning to face her. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked not just lost, but deeply vulnerable. It was a stark contrast to the aloof mask he'd worn earlier. Mina recognized that look—it was the look of someone trying very hard not to drown.
"I… it appears I have misjudged the settings," he said, his voice low and cultured, each word pronounced with a careful precision that was, again, utterly out of place.
Mina climbed the last few steps and peered into the machine. "Ah. You put the wool sweater on the heavy-duty cycle. It's felted now." She looked from the ruined clothes back to his bewildered face and couldn't help but laugh, a warm, musical sound. "Don't worry. It's a rite of passage. I think I destroyed my entire first paycheck's worth of clothes when I moved here."
She saw the tension in his jaw. Pride, she thought. He was embarrassed. "Here," she said gently, bending over the machine. "Let me show you. This dial here is for the water temperature. Cold is almost always best. And this is for the cycle…"
She gave him a quick, simple tutorial. He watched her hands intently, his brow furrowed in concentration as if she were explaining a complex algorithm.
"Thank you," he said when she was done, the words sounding foreign and stiff on his tongue. He gave a short, formal bow that was so incongruous it was almost endearing.
"I'm Park Mina," she said, smiling. "I live right downstairs."
"Kim Seongjun," he replied, mirroring her bow again. "I… live here." He gestured vaguely toward the rooftop door.
An awkward silence fell. Mina could feel his discomfort radiating off him in waves. He was clearly a man who was not used to accepting help, or perhaps even to basic human interaction.
"Well, welcome to the neighborhood, Kim Seongjun-ssi," she said, picking up her grocery bags. "If you need help finding the best cheap eats or which market ajumma gives the best deals, just ask. We look out for each other around here."
She gave him a final wave and headed back down to her apartment. As she unpacked the groceries, her mind lingered on the strange new tenant. There was a sadness about him, a loneliness that was palpable. He was like a character from a different story who had accidentally wandered into hers.
Down the hall, her brother Minho emerged from his room, his eyes bleary from studying. "Noona, I'm starving."
"Dinner's almost ready, future doctor," she said, ruffling his hair. "Go set the table."
As she cooked, the familiar, comforting sounds of her life filled the small apartment—the sizzle of beef in the pan, the rice cooker humming, Minho chattering about his classes. This was her world. It was messy, it was difficult, but it was filled with genuine love and purpose. She worked three part-time jobs—waitressing at a local café, doing design gigs, and tutoring elementary students—all to keep this tiny universe intact.
Later that night, as she sat at her small desk working on a logo design for a new bakery, her best friend Lee Seyeon video-called. Seyeon, a sharp-tongued but fiercely loyal aspiring journalist, was her emotional anchor.
"Unnie, you look tired," Seyeon said immediately, her face pixelated on the screen.
"Just the usual," Mina said, stretching. "But guess what? We have a new neighbor. In the rooftop room."
"Ooh, tell me everything. Is he old? Creepy? Married?"
Mina laughed. "None of the above. Young. Maybe late twenties. Handsome, in a very… severe way. But completely helpless. I had to teach him how to use the washing machine today."
Seyeon's eyes lit up with interest. "Helplessly handsome? My favorite kind of project. Is he single? Are you going to adopt him?"
"Yah! Don't be ridiculous," Mina scolded, but she was smiling. "He just seems lonely. And out of his depth. You should have seen the way he bowed. It was like watching a historical drama."
"Keep me updated," Seyeon said, wiggling her eyebrows. "A mysterious, handsome stranger falls for the kind-hearted girl next door? It's the plot of every webnovel ever."
"This is real life, Seyeon-ah. My life is about spreadsheets and debt payments, not romance novels." But even as she said it, the image of Kim Seongjun's confused, vulnerable face flashed in her mind.
Up on the rooftop, Seongjun lay on the thin mattress, staring at the cracks in the ceiling. The room was cold, the blanket thin and scratchy. He had survived his first day. He had navigated the subway system, a bewildering, crowded ordeal that was a world away from his chauffeured sedan. He had eaten a miserable, cold convenience-store kimbap for dinner. And he had been rescued from domestic disaster by a woman whose laugh seemed to echo in the quiet of his room.
Park Mina. She was nothing like the women in his world. She was… bright. Like a splash of primary color in a life that had been entirely monochrome. Her kindness had been effortless, devoid of any calculation. It was the first genuine, unasked-for kindness he had received in longer than he could remember.
He replayed the scene at the washing machine. The ease with which she moved, the lack of self-consciousness, the warmth in her eyes. It was unsettling. His entire life was a series of guarded interactions, of parsing words for hidden meanings and agendas. With her, there seemed to be no hidden layers. What you saw was what you got.
A part of him, the part trained by his grandfather, warned him to keep his distance. Emotional attachments were a liability. But another part, a part he had thought long buried, was intrigued. This was his mission, wasn't it? To find a woman like her. A woman who didn't see Cha Seongjun, the heir.
He turned over, the mattress springs groaning in protest. Outside his window, the city lights still glittered, but from this angle, he could also see the dark, quiet shapes of the surrounding rooftops, the faint glow of television screens in other apartments. He was in the belly of the beast now, surrounded by the very ordinary lives he was supposed to infiltrate. And his first contact had been with a woman who chased the sun, while he was a man condemned to hide it. The irony was not lost on him. The game had not only begun, but it had already introduced its most compelling, and most dangerous, player.